


Anatomy of Loss

by onemechanicalalligator



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Friendship, Loss, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemechanicalalligator/pseuds/onemechanicalalligator
Summary: Five times Abed lost someone, and one time someone came back.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 19
Kudos: 91





	Anatomy of Loss

**one**

Abed’s mother leaves when he is six.

It surprises him, because he didn’t know that that’s a thing mothers could do. Even in the late nights when he would lie in bed awake listening to his parents shout at each other from down the hall, it never occurred to him that one of them would just give up one day. That one of them would leave with barely so much as a good-bye, and certainly without making sure Abed understood what was happening.

His dad tries to explain it later, saying that they’re better off without her, that she wasn’t good for them. That she didn’t know how to love them the way they needed to be loved. _But,_ Abed thinks, _she was good for me, she did love me._ She read him stories and cooked him food and spoke Polish to him. She hugged him, and she would smile when he didn’t push her away.

He ignores the times when she made him feel bad for who he was, when she was embarrassed by him having a meltdown in a store or exasperated when he wouldn’t look her in the eye. He ignores the way she would yell at him, sigh at him, refuse to explain why she was mad at him even though he kept trying to explain to her that he _didn’t understand, and how could he fix it if he didn’t know what he did wrong?_

Abed blocks all those memories out, because what matters is that _his mother is gone,_ and the longer she’s gone, the more he starts to understand that she’s probably not coming back. The more he starts to forget about the bad things and latch onto the good ones. He clings to December ninth as his buoy, to help him navigate through the sea of motherlessness, because if nothing else he can count on that one day a year when he’s positive she still exists, positive he still matters to her.

She visits every year on December ninth, and they watch _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ together, until the year that she doesn’t come. And Abed has a psychotic break. And she never comes again. 

And he feels the real ache of loss, the ache he’s been shying away from all these years, the part of his chest left ragged around the area where his heart has been slowly torn out, piece by piece. Because that’s what’s happened, that last shred of his heart has been forcibly removed and his chest is now empty and hollow, and she’s gone, she’s gone, _she’s gone._

He thinks it could be worse. She could be dead. Then he wonders if that actually _would_ be worse, because as it is, she’s _chosen_ not to see him anymore. Chosen her new family over her old one, as though that were a choice Abed would _ever_ force her to make. She’s made the choice without him, and he can’t help but think it seems unreasonable. Maybe even unfair.

It breaks him.

It’s an abandonment he doesn’t know how to process, and one that eats away at him for years afterward, even when he can’t necessarily notice or feel it. It seeps into his interactions with other people, his friendships. It’s an experience he sees reflected again and again every time a classmate pretends to be a friend and then turns their back on him, every time he gets shoved in a locker, every time his dad yells at him for something he doesn’t know how to to fix. There’s a record skipping in the back of his mind through it all, playing over and over, _not enough, not enough, not enough._

**two**

Star-Burns dies in Abed’s third year at Greendale.

Despite the fact that Abed is left with what seems to be an urn of his ashes and a video responsibility, Abed and Star-Burns were really never _that_ close. It’s the loss of someone familiar, someone who always happened to be in classes with the study group, and in the cafeteria at the same time as them. Someone who helped out with his videos, and _Troy and Abed in the Morning,_ and sometimes random hijinks around campus. His absence is noticeable. But it’s not a Loss, it’s not like losing a family member.

It’s nothing like losing a mother.

He comes back in Abed’s fifth year, having faked his own death, and Abed feels better about the fact that his memorial service at Greendale turned out to be more of a riot-instigator than an actual event. He’s not sure what to do with the urn anymore, and he really doesn’t want to know what’s inside it. Abed hopes Star-Burns got to see the video obituary he made, and hopes that he liked it, but he forgets to ever actually ask. 

It’s confusing and strange, to get used to someone being gone and then have them show up again. Ultimately, it’s a relief. 

Abed always liked ~~Star-Burns~~ Alex.

**three**

Pierce dies in Abed’s fifth year at Greendale. Abed isn't glad, but he's not particularly distraught, either. Pierce was cruel to him in life _and_ in death, leaving him nothing but a can of sperm in his will, and even worse, he’s the reason that—

**four**

—Troy leaves, off to circle the globe on a boat in exchange for millions of Pierce’s dollars, and Abed knows he's making the right choice, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. 

Before he goes, Abed gives him a shoe box full of DVDs, carefully curated to match Troy's most common emotional states, so that he can feel like Abed is there with him.

Abed watches the boat pull away on its trailer and turns, walking to Annie's car in the parking lot. He waits there until she shows up and the two of them head home, and Abed goes straight to Troy's room, which is now his room, and throws on a pair of headphones and watches _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ on his laptop. 

Then he watches it two more times, until finally Annie orders a pizza and uses it to lure Abed out of his room. They eat together, and then Abed goes back to his room, puts the headphones back on, and watches _The Breakfast Club_ until he falls into a restless sleep. 

It isn't the same kind of emptiness he felt when his mom left. This loss holds no hint of blame or betrayal, only unfortunate circumstance. And yet the pain is the same, the deep twisting in his gut that won't go away, the panic that sneaks up when he forgets for a moment, and then it comes crashing back to him. He wakes up in the night crying from nightmares he can't remember. He feels lost without Troy to anchor him. 

They keep in touch, and that helps, mostly, but sometimes Abed wonders if it wouldn't be easier to just forget. The despair that hits him when they end a phone call or he finishes reading an email is fresh and painful every single time. But he still relishes every interaction, makes the most of them, uses each one as a checkpoint to say, _We've made it this far already._

That’s what makes it extra-scary when he doesn’t hear from Troy for a few weeks or, once, a few months at a time. Abed can watch his tracker, sure, and know his position on the globe. But that doesn’t tell him whether Troy is safe or happy or alive. Those are the times when Annie clings to him, pretending she needs the support, when Abed can tell she’s just putting on a show for his own benefit, fabricating a reason for them to stick together. He doesn’t say anything, because deep down he appreciates it. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want to have to say it out loud.

Those stretches seem to get longer as time goes by, like the further Troy drifts from Greendale, the further he drifts from Abed, too. Phone calls turn into texts and video calls turn into emails, and even those are sporadic. Abed can tell Troy is distracted, and he doesn’t blame him. He would be, too, if he were on a maritime adventure and not just stuck in Greendale.

The pain of Troy leaving never really eases, and Abed never mentions to anyone the small fact that he’s in love with Troy, and has been for years.

**five**

Shirley leaves before Abed’s sixth year at Greendale, and no one tells him. For a while he’s not even sure which hurts more, her leaving or nobody telling, but ultimately it’s her absence that he feels at the study room table each day, and whenever anyone says something about religion, and when Britta burns another sandwich.

Her leaving doesn’t feel personal, but it’s still _there,_ it’s still _everywhere,_ and Abed hates that he never got to say goodbye.

He still has the scrap of paper that he doodled on when he was planning his _Jesus_ movie, his _Abed_ movie, the one Shirley hated, and saved him from. He remembers the way he got carried away, focused on the masses of people surrounding him instead of himself and his own vision, and he remembers how he put his feelings ahead of Shirley's, as though hers didn’t matter. As though her religion didn’t matter, and that’s really not what he meant to do, he just got carried away. And the amazing thing is that Shirley somehow seemed to understand that, even though Abed never said it aloud. 

He thinks maybe he never gave Shirley enough credit.

She spent so many years raising those boys, and trying to make her marriage work, and going to school, and starting her own business, and finally leaving Greendale to take care of her father, and what has Abed been doing? Going to grade school, and then failing to go to film school, and then going to community college. Making some friends, and a few movies. Falling in love, and lying about it to everyone, including himself. 

To say he admires Shirley would be an understatement, and he sure does miss her.

**plus one**

Troy comes back.

The morning he docks in LA, Abed dresses in skinny jeans, an _Inspector Spacetime_ t-shirt, red sneakers with elastic laces, and his favorite green hoodie. He stares at his hair in the mirror for more time than usual; it’s longer than it was at Greendale, and sometimes he’s not sure what to do with it. But he decides it’s probably fine.

It’s a 45 minute walk from Abed’s apartment to the marina, but he needs that time to get into the right head space. He’s meeting Troy alone, and the rest of the former study group will be flying in next week to see him, but this time is just for them, and Abed is glad, and he’s excited, and he’s terrified.

Their communication became less frequent as time went on, but they never stopped keeping in touch with each other, not completely, and the longest they went without speaking was at the end of the second year, three months since the last email, and Abed was trying to figure out how to tell Troy he couldn't do this anymore, that waiting was killing him. Except then he did get an email from Troy, and the email said he was coming home, would be in LA in three weeks, and everything changed.

Abed decides he’s spent too long dwelling on loss, and now it’s time to focus on togetherness. Troy is coming home to him, and Abed is going to be honest with him, and Troy can decide what his next move will be.

Two blocks from the marina is a flower stand, and Abed buys a bouquet of azaleas, because the name is fun to say. And he waits for Troy, flowers in hand, and when the _Childish Tycoon_ docks, he holds his breath.

LeVar Burton exits first, and he nods a hello at Abed but doesn’t stop to chat, and Abed doesn’t mind because _there’s Troy,_ and he’s wearing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, and he has a beard, and he looks older, and he looks _beautiful,_ and it takes Abed’s breath away. He stands there, gaping, until Troy makes his way to him.

“Abed,” Troy breathes, his eyes wide, looking like he’s about to burst into tears.

“These are for you,” Abed says, holding the flowers out, and Troy takes them, and then he _does_ burst into tears, so Abed gathers him in his arms and squeezes him tight, exactly the way he used to when Troy’s emotions were too overwhelming, and they stay like that for what Abed guesses is probably a very, very long time. And sometime during that very, very long time, Abed begins to cry, too.

When they pull apart, Troy stares at Abed’s face, and then takes his thumb and uses it to wipe the tears off of Abed’s cheeks, and Abed wants to kiss him, he wants it _so much,_ he wants it maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything in the whole wide world. And he doesn’t know what to do with that feeling, he doesn’t know if it would be appropriate, and he thinks maybe he should share his feelings first, not just get all in Troy’s face without asking, and then he hears the sound of crinkling plastic, of Troy setting the flowers on the ground, and then he sweeps Abed back into his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and Abed realizes he’s been panicking, his breathing is short and shallow, but Troy knows what to do, Troy _always_ knows what to do.

He breathes with Troy until he feels calmer, until his heartbeat matches Troy’s, which he can feel because they’re pressed together, chest to chest, while Troy comforts him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, because Troy’s ear is right next to his mouth. “I didn’t plan this.”

“Everything’s fine,” Troy assures him. “We’re back together. Nothing else matters.”

“I love you,” Abed whispers before he can think anymore about it, because he has to. “I love you,” he repeats a little louder, with more certainty. He nods his head and pulls away slightly so he can see Troy’s face, only he’s afraid, so he closes his eyes.

“Abed,” Troy says, and it sounds like it’s coming from far away. “Abed,” he repeats, and Abed tries and fails to force his eyes open. _“Abed,”_ he murmurs a third time, leaning closer, and Abed feels his breath on his ear, and then on his cheek, and then Troy’s lips meet his and Abed’s eyes spring open.

Troy’s eyes are open, too, as they kiss, and it’s slow and sweet, and Abed doesn’t want it to end, because he’s afraid Troy is just letting him down easy. Except then Troy is opening his mouth, sliding his teeth gently across Abed’s lip, and Abed doesn’t think this is how you kiss someone right before you break their heart.

“I love you too,” Troy says when he finally pulls away. _“God,_ Abed, I had it all planned out, how I was gonna tell you, but you beat me to it. You even brought flowers.”

Abed smiles at that. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, shrugging. “None of it matters. How could it, when now we both finally know?”

“I need you to know another thing,” Troy says, and he’s grinning, too. “It’s important. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Abed says.

“I promise never to leave you again. Not like this. Not for such a long time. Once was enough, I don’t think I could do it again.”

“Cool,” Abed says, taking Troy in his arms again. “Cool cool cool,” he adds, and kisses Troy again, and wonders how he got so lucky.


End file.
